DeWitt's Redemption
by WinLik3aBosS
Summary: Booker DeWitt is a washed up Pinkerton investegator who is a drunkard and a gambler. What happens when he enters the city of Columbia in search of a girl to wipe away his debts? Find out in this Bioshock Story!
1. Chapter 1: Every Story has a Beginning

**And here we have it, a Bioshock story. Another one, by me. Hopefully, I will be able to construct a successful storyline this time, as the last one had too many holes, and I felt that it was empty, as if you could care less for the characters. As stated in the summary, this one will be about Infinite. Just like the other stories out there, it will be based off the main plot, but because I do not like the ending to the game (and some other aspects), I will change the plot to the way I see fit. My other story (if you are interested) is official shut down. There were numerous problems in that other story, and even though it was my first, I did not see any way of fixing it, so it has been discontinued. Let's not even mention the numerous grammatical errors and random garbage that I put in there for the heck of it. Honestly, I do feel as though I'm creating too many stories at once, but once I get inspiration (which changes drastically I know), I cannot hold it down. I have been playing Bioshock Infinite recently and to be quite frank, I am enthralled at its plot. Even though it took away my favorite city in the video game universe, it replaced it with a quite decent one, which was quite different in comparison. And I think we can all safely say that we all grew a bond with Elizabeth between her and yourself (Booker). In this story, I hope to create a characters that you feel deeply for, or even somewhat relatable. That aside, you're probably getting bored of me talking on and on about this, so let's just cut to the chase. I hope you find my introduction to this story captivating, as the introduction is the hardest part of the story in my opinion. Enjoy.**

"One man goes into the waters of baptism; a different man comes out, born again. But who is that man who lies submerged? Perhaps that swimmer is both sinner and saint, until he is revealed unto the eyes of man." Zachary Hale. Comstock

~1~

Every Story has a Beginning

The light shown over the table as a man with thick brown hair wearing a vest, and striped pants held his cards. The room was filled with dust, and if one concentrated hard enough, one could see the small dust particles floating around through the shadow of the light. All around the man sat other men who were watching intently as his opponent picked up a card. Said man took a deep breath, inhaling deeply. The two men were gambling of course. Gambling on a rather large portion of money. One man, the one with the vest and brown hair, seemed to look nervous and quite agitated. If one had to guess, they would say that he was losing, close to losing, or had already lost. Sweat poured down from the temple of his forehead as the light beat down upon him. Tension was rising as the game continued. The game was taking place in a small room that was down an alley way of the streets of New York City. Here, they would be able to play their games in peace, without the disruption of the police. All was quiet and it seemed as though the rest of the room was inexistent as the two held their cards, glaring at one another.

The man wearing the vest with brown hair was DeWitt. Booker DeWitt to be exact. He was a well-known man in this section of the city for his brutal and violent detective work when he was employed with Pinkerton's National Detective Agency. Here he built up his reputation until he decided to branch off from the company and found his own company as a private investigator. However, as the current situation would explain, he had become sucked into a world of gambling and alcohol after the love of his life passed on from the world of the living. Leaving him nothing, Booker had gone into a state of depression, attempting to drown his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey, beer, or any other alcoholic beverage he could get his hands on. And here he was, gambling what little he had left to try and gain some money to pay off the enormous debt that was building up as he gambled.

Booker looked at the cards in his hands. The cards he held were a 5,6,7,8 and 9 all of spades. It was a straight flush. Surely, for once out of the many games in which he had gambled, this had to be the best hand he had ever gotten. Also, there was no possible way that his opponent could beat him. He had this in the bag. Still, he was nervous. For some odd reason, from somewhere in the back of his head he felt as though he still had the chance of losing. But he couldn't lose! The chances of him losing were slim to none. He had to get a Royal Flush, and that was practically impossible.

"All right then Booker. Let's see it then." The man snarled from across the table as he took the large cigar from his mouth. Once he finished, he put it back to its original place and grinned. Booker could barely keep himself from grinning himself as he held the cards in his hand. He was so positive that he had him beat, wasn't he? Well, he was going to get a surprise now, wasn't he?

"You asked for it pal. Straight Flush." Booker said as he placed his cards down on the table. All around him, the men gasped as they saw Booker's triumphant smile plastered across his rough face. "I'll be taking this money now…" He said as he began to gather the money in the middle. He couldn't help himself. It felt too good to be true. He had finally one, and maybe he would be able to pay off the massive debts that he owed. Or…he could just gamble a little more and, who knows? He might just get lucky again. However, his train of thought was interrupted as a massive hand slammed down upon his, forcing him away from the giant money pile in the center. Booker looked up at the large man with the cigar, angry and confused.

"What the hell! I won; keep your grubby paws off!" Booker barked. He knew that a majority of the men in the room were close friends of his opponent, and would gladly beat Booker down if he tried anything violent, but at the moment he felt no reason why he couldn't express his feelings to the greedy bastard. The man with the cigar just smiled and took the cigar out of his mouth so he could speak.

"You haven't won yet my friend. I still haven't shown my hand." Booker narrowed his eyes. Even though he couldn't see what the man's cards were, he could already sense that something wasn't right. When the man finished speaking, he went into a small coughing fit, which sent plumes of smoke coming out form his mouth. When he finished, he placed the cigar back in his mouth and leaned back in his chair. With a final triumphant smile, he placed his cards down, one by one.

Ace

King

Queen

Jack

Ten

Booker nearly fainted upon seeing the cards laid down on the green fabric that was draped over the table on which they were playing on. With weak legs, he took a seat back at the table and stared wide eyed at the cards. He ran his hands through his brown hair as sweat started pouring down his face. The room seemed to get immensely hot, and Booker could feel the color drain from his face. Meanwhile, the man with the cigar just laughed and bellowed, holding his fat stomach as he watched Booker stare at his undeniable defeat. He had lost, again. But unlike last time, he had lost everything he had left. Now he was penniless, and all alone. Upon this realization, anger built up inside Booker and he couldn't restrain himself from what he did next.

Quick as a flash, Booker stood up from his chair, sending the chair flying backwards across the wooden floorboards. The man with the cigar stood still as the events took place, obviously too fast for his unintelligent mind to register. Booker balled his hand up into a fist and plunged it towards the direction of the man with the cigar. His hand met with the fat, round face of the man and sunk into his skin before hitting his jaw. The blow wasn't enough to send him off his feet, but it was enough to send him back a few steps. Disoriented and confused, the man with the cigar held his head and hunched over. Booker closed in on him, ready to knock the man to the floor when a pair of arms grabbed him from the sides.

"All right bud! That's enough of you!"

"Quit strugglin' it'll be easier if you stop!"

Two men held Booker by his arms, restraining him and keeping him from attacking the man further. Said man was now conscious about what had just happened, and approached Booker with a bloody lip. He looked at Booker for a moment before thrusting his fist into Booker's stomach, taking the wind out of him. He repeated this movement around five times before he felt he had gotten enough pleasure from beating up his assailant. After placing the last blow, the man backed away from Booker's beaten body, and straightened the suit he was wearing.

"You know what to do boys. He's had this coming for a while. Take him to the back." The two men that held Booker grinned and did as they were told. Since Booker was now unable to stand on his own, the two men practically dragged his beaten form outside of the shed, into the now raining alleyway. It was the perfect spot for mugging, murder, and any other form of crime, as the police could not hear you. Even if they did, there were thousands of these small passageways in the city, and they would never be able to find you in time to save you (or arrest you). Booker's shins became soaked as the men dragged him through small puddles that were forming on the pavement. The two men snickered and talked to each other, but Booker decided that he didn't want to hear them and closed his eyes. Finally, the two men dropped him next to a wall at the end of the alleyway.

The fat man with the cigar appeared again, wearing a bowler hat and standing between his two goons with a frown upon his face.

"You disappoint me Booker. As much as it is a pleasure to rob you of all your money in a simple poker game, I cannot keep doing business with you. There are many people who want you dead, for not paying off their debts. But see it this way, when I kill you, you're death will be a way of paying off said debts. Everybody wins! See?" Booker remained silent as the man spoke to him. Once he had finished speaking, the man walked in closer and knelt down in front of Booker, sending some of the rainwater that had collected in his hat to spill onto Booker's pants. "This is it DeWitt. The end of the line. I'll tell Allan* you said hi." The man said before standing back up. He turned his back to Booker and began walking away. "We're done here. Clean up this mess." He said before starting to walk off. The two goons looked at each other before the one on the left pulled out a small pistol.

"Sorry pal. Your luck seems to have run out. See you on the other side." He aimed the pistol at Booker's head and cocked it back, preparing to send a bullet right through his brain. Booker opened his eyes, suddenly, and rolled out of the way as soon as the man pulled the trigger. As soon as he rolled away, Booker turned around to face his opponents. The second man pulled out a club and charged at Booker, only to find his attack easily parried. After avoiding the first grunt's attack, the second man got back up and aimed back at booker with an angered expression on his face. Booker grabbed the second grunt and turned him around, using him as a human shield. The first grunt fired accidentally, intending to hit Booker, but instead hit the first Grunt in the head, killing him instantly. Booker had to duck behind his body as the bullet shot clean through his skull and hit the brick wall behind him. Splotches of blood were splattered all over Booker's face. Once the grunt had finished shooting, Booker tossed the dead body aside and lunged at his last attacker. He grabbed his head and slammed it against a nearby brick wall, instantly knocking him out, and possibly cracking his skull. Seeing as all of his nearby enemies were extinguished, he took a moment to catch his breath before picking up the pistol and walking down the dark alleyway.

Booker's shoes splashed as they came into contact with the small puddles of rain forming in the ditches in the pavement. Onward he pressed through the alleyway before he caught sight of the man that had beaten him in Poker. With a loud yell, Booker charged him,

"AAAAHHHH!" He shouted. The startled man dropped his cigar and turned around only to get another punch to the face by Booker. The man didn't even get the chance to speak before Booker started ripping into him, partially from anger and partially because of his current drunken state. Even at this lowly state, however, he was still a formidable foe. Finally, the fat man cried out in mercy for him to stop,

"You fat bastard! You cheated!" Booker spat in his face. The fat man turned his head to the side before spitting out some blood. As he turned back to face DeWitt, a small trickle of blood still ran down his chin.

"It doesn't matter anymore DeWitt! They're coming for you! Told me themselves! They've had enough of your bullshit and they want their money back!"

"I could've paid off some of my debt with that money! I earned that!" Booker yelled again. The fat man only smiled,

"Only a small portion! And besides, you think just by paying them with money they would let you go scott-free? No, no, no, my friend. They want blood! You're blood-ouch!" Booker had punched him again. "Goddammit stop! Stop! Listen to me DeWitt, I can help you if you'd just quit it!" Booker stopped for a moment to listen.

"A man came to Allan's office the other day searching for you. Allan wouldn't tell him of course, cause he's pissed at you. But still, it seemed as though he was offering a great reward for something. Possibly a case that you could do that might just pay off your debts!" The fat man stuttered before Booker dropped him into a puddle and stood up looking down upon the man.

"Who is this man? Where can I find him?" Booker asked, intrigued by the tale that the fat man had told him.

"I don't know his name! Damn it Booker it's not like I take down everyone's name in a book or something!"

"Where can I find him?"

"I don't know." Booker angrily kicked the man on the ground and caused him to wince in pain.

"Kind of a tall tale isn't it then? What kind of bullshit are you telling me? Forget it. I'm done here." Booker said before walking through the alleyway towards the gambling room. As he reached the doorway he could hear the fat man behind him yell after him,

"They're coming for you, you know! They _WILL_ find you! And when they do, you'll pay for this!" Booker ignored him and walked in the room. The men who were still inside had seen what had happened and stepped out of the way as Booker walked in, gathered his belongings along with a bottle of alcohol. At one point, he thought of taking the money as well, but he noticed that these men would not allow him to leave the room alive if he had taken it, and unlike last time, there were around 10 of them. He stuffed the pistol which he had grabbed before in his vest pocket. Booker then began to make his way out back towards the office.

***DeWitt Private Investigator (Office Room)***

Pain shot through Booker's forehead as he lifted his head from his desk. The only light in the room; a small lamp on his desk, shown light into his face as he wiped his sore eyes. Red and bloodshot from all of the liquor he had drank; Booker's eyes eyed the empty bottle in his hands. He had recalled last night just barely, only remembering drinking all of the liquor and falling asleep afterwards. It had become a habit of his. Booker groaned and put his hands to his forehead. He was sweating too. Just as Booker was about to stand up from his seat, he heard a knocking at his door.

Booker stared at the door with a stupid look on his face, partially because of the liquor, and partially because he could not believe that someone had the audacity to come to him at this hour of the day. It was 3 o'clock in the morning for god's sake!

The knocking rang once again. Three knocks, accompanied by silence. Booker groaned and stood up from his desk, pushing his wooden chair to the side. He leaned forwards and backwards, stretching out his spine, and quickly stashed the pistol on his desk inside the drawer, just in case the cops had come to arrest him for last night's events. Then again, would he need it? What if it was Allan's men come to collect the debt he owed? Booker shrugged and decided that he didn't have the motivation or will to fight, and walked over to the door, staggering here and there from his hangover.

When Booker reached the door, he asked,

"Who's there?"

"Someone who needs of your services." The voice, obviously male, replied from the other side of the door.

"Why don't you go look somewhere else, I'm closed right now…" Booker said, beginning to return to his desk where he could rest in peace.

"That would be unwise, Mr. DeWitt. I have an interesting deal to propose." The voice countered, picking up Booker's attention. How did this guy know his name? And what was this so called deal? Booker stood silent on his side of the door for a moment before speaking,

"I'm listening."

"I would prefer we spoke face to face instead of at a door. It seems quite anti-social don't you think?" The voice requested.

"How do I know you won't pull out a gun and blow my brains out?" Booker accused quite suddenly and irrationally. The voice seemed quite annoyed at Booker's quick judgment and let out a heavy sigh.

"Honestly Mr. DeWitt, if I were one of Allan Pinkerton's men, I would have already stormed your room and shot you dead. May I come in?" The voice pointed out. Booker thought it over and decided that he was right. Allan was a ruthless man when it came to business, and Booker happened to owe the man a lot of money. Allan barging in with a group of men to shoot him dead was one of the least surprising things that he would've expected. Booker grabbed the brass door handle and unlocked it before opening the door itself.

The man on the other side of the door was a tall, lanky fellow, dressed in a crème colored jacket and pants to match. His hair was a light orange color, and his bored expression held many secrets behind it that made Booker feel as though he was hiding something. Still, he led him in and sat at his desk, waiting to hear the job he was offering.

"As you already know, I am here to offer you a job Mr. DeWitt." Booker nodded, "Very well, the job is fairly quite simple really. All you need to do is go to the following coordinates where one of our accomplices will take you to Colombia, a city high above the clouds." The man handed Booker a small piece of paper, "There, you will find the girl by the name of Elizabeth. She is locked away in Monument Tower. You'll know it when you see it. From there on out, all you need to do is simply bring the girl here to Mr. Allan. We have compromised on a deal to free you of your debts if you perform and execute this task successfully Mr. DeWitt." The man instructed. When he had finished, there was an awkward silence as he noticed that Booker was staring at him wide eyed, obviously shocked at the offer.

"Well Mr. DeWitt? Will you accept?" Booker still did not reply. He had been opening up another bottle of whiskey when the man had spoken about freeing him of his debts by finding one measly girl. This seemed to be the same fairy tale that he was told by the man who he had played poker with the day before. Now, he sat with his feet on his desk, and the bottle in his hand, but his face was completely concentrated on the man with the crème colored jacket. Realizing that he looked completely unprofessional and like an idiot, Booker straightened himself up and put his feet back down on the floor. He put the wine bottle down on his desk and thought what he was going to say through before speaking,

"You're telling me…all I need to do is get this girl from a tower in a floating city…and my debts paid?"

"Yes." The man nodded.

"Kind of hard to believe pal…a floating city? And a girl in a tower?"

"I am not jesting you Mr. DeWitt. This is a serious matter, and a serious case." The man said, keeping his bored expression, except for lifting an eyebrow here and there once in a while. Booker sighed,

"I don't even know you're name! And why do you need the girl, may I ask?"

"All questions will be answered in due time, Mr. DeWitt. Just bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt." He answered. Booker put his head in his hands, thinking over his options. Thinking over all of the possible choices he could make. He then realized that this _was_ his only choice at the moment if he wanted to pay off his debts with Allan.

"I must say that I am intrigued…you said all of my debts? I would be a free man?" Booker asked, half expecting the man to start laughing and tell him this was all a joke. Instead, the man nodded. "Alright. I'll do it." Booker said, nodding his head, while hoping that this man wasn't lying to him. If he was, however, Booker would ensure that he lost a few teeth by the end of the day.

"Splendid. We will wait for any news of your progress. Good day Mr. DeWitt." The man said before leaving. Booker called out after him the second he left the room, out of earshot.

"Wait! How do I contact you? Where do I take her?! Hello?!" No response. DeWitt sighed and sat back down in his chair, bringing his bottle of whiskey to his lips. After taking a decent swig, he coughed violently and stared at his ceiling. 'A floating city? Impossible. What idiot would build a city above the clouds? What was next? A city under the ocean?

**And that's the end of Chapter 1. I hope you all enjoyed it, but I would also like to say that I hope that I am developing Booker correctly. Infinite is a lot more confusing than Bioshock 1 and 2, because of all that timey wimey wibbley wobbley stuff. So yeah, if I'm missing any crucial parts of the timeline, please let me know. **


	2. Chapter 2: Fly me to the Moon

**If you read my first chapter's introduction/caption thing, you will know that I intend to change the ending of this story because I am greatly unsatisfied with the one that the game gave us. Sorry if that's a spoiler but it's true. I just hated the ending, cause it made me think, "Well if I had died earlier on in the game…wouldn't that have saved all of the universes from Comstock ever existing?" Maybe. But then again, was I supposed to have died before given the chance of baptism? Then what was the point of Booker surviving the battle of Wounded Knee. For the story I suppose. Still, if he had died there then he would've at least been given him a decent death compared to the one the story gave us. And then that leads me to a discussion about Elizabeth that I will save for another time because right now you're probably thinking, 'Why the hell am I reading this, it has nothing that I am interested in.' Well, then here you are, the second chapter. Enjoy.**

"When I first seen Columbia, that sky was the brightest, bluest sky that there ever was. Seemed like Heaven. Then your eyes adjusted to the light…and you realized people weren't as nice as you thought they were…" Daisy Fitzroy

~2~

Fly me to the Moon

A package had come into his office the next day, but from whom it did not say. It was anonymous, but Booker could guess who it had come from. Most likely the man in the crème colored suit. Still, he took the package into his office and set the small box down on his desk. Booker then made his way around to the back of his desk, where he drew up a chair. Plopping himself down at his desk, he pulled the package closer to him so he could get a better inspection of what it was when he opened it. It was carefully and neatly wrapped in brown wrapping paper with a string around it to keep it in place.

Booker pressed his fingers under a small crease in the paper and pulled on the paper, ripping it off the object inside. After pulling off most of the wrapping paper (except for the small bit on the bottom), he was left with an open view of the object that was concealed inside. It was a brown box made of some elegant wood. All around the edges it was covered in gold plated metal, and on the top of the lid it read,

Property of Booker DeWitt

7th Cavalry, Wounded Knee

Booker was slightly confused as to how these people knew he had been enlisted in the US military and had fought at the battle of Wounded Knee, but he dismissed the thought when he remembered these were the same people who promised to wipe away his debt. He carefully opened the box and found a number of items inside. One of such items was a picture of what seemed like a brochure of Colombia, the so called 'flying city' he had been told about. He ran his hand along the picture, as if unsure if it was real. His fingers ran across the flat surface of the paper as he brought his finger down across the surface. Next, was an oddly shaped key that had the picture of a cage on it. Booker was unsure as to what it unlocked, but he noted that whatever was in here would surely be helpful. Then, there was the metal pistol lying in the dead center of the box. Booker picked it up and recognized it instantly; it was a standard Broadside pistol, much better than his average, run down pistol that he held on to for emergencies. This one seemed to be in top shape and fully loaded. Booker placed the pistol in his jacket and continued to search through the box.

Taped to the roof of the box, seemed to be a combination. Booker couldn't make any sense of it, but he knew it would come in handy in the future.

The last item in the box held Booker's gaze. It was the picture of the girl he was sent to recover. Booker picked up the picture and held it up to his face so he could see it clearly. The girl had some of the biggest blue eyes that he had ever seen in a girl. They were like two pools of the brightest and clearest water. She had dark brown hair that fell down a little beyond her shoulders, but was held up in a ponytail. If Booker had to guess, she was around the age of 18 or 20, but the picture was not of good quality and he could not be sure. Still, he took a mental image of the girl in his mind, so he would recognize her on sight. As he began putting the photo down, he discovered that there was some writing on the back. He flipped the photo around and read aloud,

"Bring to New York, unharmed…hmm…shouldn't be too hard."

Seeing as he had looked at everything in the box, he closed it up and put the box back on his desk. Booker then stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was slightly ruffled and he looked as though he was some sort of bum or mugger. He quickly shot his hands to his hair so he could neaten it. At least he could look somewhat nicer before entering the city.

Last night, more like this morning, the man in the crème colored suit had also given him the coordinates where he would find the people that would take him to Colombia. Booker inspected the coordinates on it before tucking it away in his vest. Looking up from his vest, Booker grabbed his badge from working with the Pinkertons and pinned it onto his shirt. He then grabbed the box and headed out of his office. The paper had informed him to be at the city docks at 1:30 PM, and it was currently 1 o'clock. He would have to hurry to meet his ride there. Hopefully, he would be able to make it in time.

***City Docks 1:32 PM***

The water splashed against the docks and the numerous boats that were docked there as the sun shone bright over the sea. Several fishermen lined the docks, talking amongst themselves and doing business of all sorts. A light breeze blew in, making Booker shiver as he arrived at his destination. He was indeed two minutes late, and he hoped that they didn't leave him behind. Booker stood at the beginning of the long dock, and looked back and forth. On his left, there were two boats, but were not attended by anyone. On his right, was one singular boat that was owned by two people, both wearing bright yellow raincoats. Seeing as they were the only people present at this dock, Booker approached them.

"Hey, uh…I'm Booker DeWitt? I was supposed to meet someone here…" Booker trailed off before the couple interrupted him.

"Of course you are.

Please, climb aboard." They said, completing each other's sentences. Booker found it quite unnerving and weird, but got on nonetheless.

***7 hours later 8:32 PM***

"Bleugh!" Booker coughed as he puked for the third time. The beginning of their sea adventure had started off pleasant enough, but now the water was choppy and rough, sending Booker's stomach lurching around in his body. Lightning flashed around them, lighting up the path in front of them a bit. Rain had started to pelt them as they continued on their journey. Booker sincerely hoped that they would arrive at their destination soon, and also hoped that these two idiots that were rowing hadn't gotten them lost.

"Are you going to just sit there?" The man said.

"As opposed to what? Standing?" The woman retorted.

"Not standing. Rowing." The man said slightly annoyed that he was doing all the work.

"Rowing? I hadn't planned on it." The woman replied.

"So you expect me to shoulder the burden?" The man asked.

"No but I expect you to do all the rowing." She replied curtly.

"And why is that?"

"Coming here was your idea."

"My idea?"

"I've made it clear that I don't believe in the exercise."

"The rowing?"

"No I imagine that's a wonderful exercise."

"Then what?"

"The entire thought exercise."

Booker had begun to grow tired of these two's quarreling, and decided to speak up,

"Excuse me, how much longer?" How much longer indeed, Booker didn't know how much longer he could stand being on this boat. Maybe he should just drown himself and save himself from all of the agony…

"One goes into an experiment knowing one could fail." The man continued, completely ignoring Booker's question. 'Yup, I'm going to die on this boat.' Booker thought dismally as the two continued to argue.

"But one does not undertake an experiment knowing one HAS failed."

"Can we get back to the rowing?"

"I suggest you do or we're never going to get there."

"That'd be great." Booker chimed in. The sooner the better.

"No, I mean I'd greatly appreciate it if you would assist." The man replied.

"Perhaps you should ask him. I would assume he has a greater interest in getting there than I do."

"I suppose he does, but there's no point in asking." The man replied, but at this point Booker wasn't paying attention. He had finally caught a glimpse of a bright light that was shining upon the sea. Booker could tell it was a lighthouse because the light circled around the sea surrounding it. 'Finally, I can get off this thing…' Booker thought as they neared it.

"Why not?" The lady continued her conversation.

"Because he doesn't row."

"He doesn't ROW?"

"No. He DOESN'T row."

"Ah, I see what you mean." By this point, the two had stopped their quarreling as they neared the lighthouse. They began to pull up along a small dock that jutted out of the small island that the lighthouse was built on. On it was a small shed with a damaged rowing boat in it, and a few other fishing supplies. Booker noted that the boat would be unable to float, and that once he was on this island there was no turning back. "We've arrived." The woman said. 'Yeah, no shit.' Booker said in his mind as he turned to climb the ladder that would take him to the docks. Booker grabbed the wet, soggy wooden ladder and pulled himself from the boat with the box in hand. As he began to climb, he noticed that the two fishermen began to pull away from the docks.

"Shall we tell him when we'll be returning?" The woman asked to her male companion.

"Would that change anything?" He replied.

"It might give him some comfort." She pointed out.

"At least that's something we can agree on." The man said with a sigh. Though, after a moment, neither of them _did _tell him when they would return. Booker walked towards the lighthouse a few steps before turning to the couple who were just barely out of earshot.

"Hey! Is someone supposed to meet me here?" he asked. The man in the boat shouted back,

"I certainly hope so."

"It does seem like a dreadful place to be stranded." The woman added. Booker nodded and climbed up the stairs towards the front door of the lighthouse. With his hair soaked and his clothes not any dryer, Booker shivered and said to himself,

"Ah, well maybe there's someone inside…" Booker walked up to the massive wooden doors and noticed a small piece of paper nailed to it, like a notice. It read,

_DeWitt,_

_Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt. This is your LAST CHANCE!_

After reading it, he turned towards the massive door and raised his right hand up. Slamming his hand down upon the wood, he knocked a couple times,

"Ah, excuse me? It's Booker DeWitt? I guess you're expecting me…" He said to nobody in particular. When there was no response, Booker felt it wouldn't hurt to push the door open. Placing his left hand on the door, he gently pushed the door aside, leading him into a circular room that had a small staircase to his right. Booker closed the door behind him, silencing the noise of the lightning and rain from his ears. Only by listening carefully, could you hear the light pattering of the rain against the outside walls of the lighthouse. Booker walked around, looking at anything in particular before coming across a large water basin. He approached it and looked into it. His green eyes stared back at him when he peered at the water. When he pulled his head up, there was a small banner above the water basin that read,

OF THY

SINS

SHALL I

WASH

THEE

Booker chuckled to himself, "Good luck with that pal." The banner was obviously talking about baptism, and Booker was quick to refuse the offer. He had been given the chance of 'rebirth' before through baptism, right after the battle of Wounded Knee. He had felt immensely dreadful for the horrendous actions that he had committed at that battle, but he had reminded himself at the last minute that such actions were what soldiers did. It was their _duty_. And so, he rejected the baptism at the last minute, and fled from the scene. It was a touchy subject for him, and he tried to forget about it completely, but the memory always found its way back to him for some reason.

Booker sat the box he was holding down on the floor and pulled out the items inside. After stuffing them in his pocket he took one last survey of the room.

Seeing as there was nowhere else to go, Booker turned towards the staircase. The light from the lightning cast a bright light from the window on the next floor upon the staircases' bottom. Booker began to scale the stairs, listening to nothing but his own footsteps as he ascended. As he climbed, he came across more banners,

FROM

SODOM

SHALL I

LEAD

THEE

"Is anyone here? Hello?" Booker called up the stairs to what seemed like an abandoned and vacant room. When he arrived at the second floor, he looked around the room for any signs of life, but there didn't seem to be any. There was a desk surrounded by mounds of clutter. On top of the desk were a phone and a typewriter. Booker walked up to the phone and grabbed hold of the receiver, hoping he was able to call someone. Unfortunately, it seemed that the line was dead. He placed the receiver back on its holster and continued his search of the building. A radio played a soft tune in the background as he walked past more desks and a bed. Just like the previous floor, there was another flight of stairs to be climbed.

When Booker reached the third floor, he immediately stopped in his tracks. There, in the middle of the room, was a dead man, with a bag over his head and tied to a chair. Blood was smeared across the floor, making one assume that his body was beaten, dragged across the room, and finally tied to a chair. A lone light shone upon him, giving it an ominous look that made it seem like someone _wanted _someone to see it. Like they were trying to make an example of him…who would do that?

"…shit…" Booker said as he examined the body. Across his chest was a sign that read,

DON'T DISSAPOINT US

After deciding there was nothing else to see in this room, Booker climbed yet another set of stairs. This time, they led outside, where Booker guessed he would enter the final room; where they light itself was located. Just as he had left it, the sky was dark and the rain was fierce. His hair was once again immediately soaked as he stood outside. As he reached the top balcony, the wind practically slapped him across the face as it pulled on his body. Booker shielded his eyes as he reached a door with three bells on it.

At first, he was utterly confused, but upon closer inspection, he noticed three symbols on it: A scroll, a Key, and a Sword.

"Wait a minute…that card…" Booker said as he remembered. The same symbols that were on the bells were on that card that he had received in the package. Booker pulled out the card from his pocket and held it up in front of him so he could dial the right combination. Booker raised his free hand and rang the first bell once, and the other two twice.

"Huh." After a few seconds, a loud horn sounded, ringing in Booker's ears. Then, there was the red light that shone from the sky, reflecting off the water. It practically blinded him,

"What in the world…" He wondered as the horn sounded again, this time it sounded twice. And, just like it had done before, it sounded the horn once again, twice in a row. After that, it stopped. The horn did not cry out again, nor did the sky turn red. Everything returned to normal. Booker scratched his head in confusion before the door behind him suddenly opened. Booker spun around and carefully approached the inside of the room.

Inside, the room was completely barren except for one lone chair that had red cushions. It sat right in the middle of the room. 'That doesn't look ominous at all.' Booker thought to himself as he inspected the chair. Booker concluded that the chair did not have any spikes or other traps on it, Booker sighed,

"All right. Looks like they expect me to sit in their fancy chair." Booker carefully climbed into the soft chair and sat for a moment, expecting something to happen.

"So now wha-hey! What the hell?" Booker cried out in surprise as metal clamps closed in on his arms and legs. Two metal walls arose from around the seat, and closed in on him, as if they were trying to enclose him in a fancy metal box.

"Make yourself ready pilgrim. The bindings are there as a safeguard." A robotic voice rang as the machine continued to piece together the metal encasing that surrounded Booker.

"This can't be good…ah!" Booker shouted in surprise as the metal walls suddenly connected to each other, enveloping Booker completely. He was now in what seemed like a metal capsule. Then, the chair tipped forwards until Booker was facing what seemed like the engines of the capsule. Booker then felt his loose pistol fall out of his vest and fall out into the engines,

"No, no! Goddammit!" He shouted in frustration as he watched his pistol become obliterated in a column of fire. The voice from before rang out again,

"Ascension…Ascension in the count of FIVE…the count of FOUR…THREE…"

"No…no…nonononoNO!" Booker began to panic as It seemed that he was about to be shot out of a cannon towards the moon.

"TWO…ONE…"

The next moments of Booker's life flashed by in an instant. As soon as the voice finished its countdown, Booker closed his eyes in fear of some horrible sight. He could feel the G-Forces press his skin down as the capsule rocketed towards the sky. He couldn't move. Even if he tried to move his head to the left instead of the right, he would have to put a considerable amount of energy into it.

"Ascension…Ascension…" The voice repeated.

"Just…just stay calm…"

"Five thousand feet…Ten thousand feet…Fifteen thousand feet…" The voice continued.

"Augh! NOOOO!" Booker shouted in agony as the machine ignored his pleas. And just as he thought he was about to die, it said,

"Hallelujah."

Booker could feel the light before he saw it. The new sensation of warmth spread over his face like a blanket as the G-Forces ceased to press down on his face. Opening one eye, Booker looked outside the small porthole in front of him nervously. What he saw caused him to open his other eye, and have his mouth hanging open. It was true. It was real. There, in front of him, was a real…flying…city.

The sun shone brightly on the floating buildings, as if defying the storm beneath it. Fireworks went off around him, as if they were celebrating the fourth of July. They even had giant American flags draped over buildings and hung on flagpoles. They were everywhere!

"Wha…" Booker said, with his mouth still hanging open.

As his capsule descended, there was a photo of an elderly looking man with a large white beard on his chin. On the banner, it read:

FATHER COMSTOCK

OUR PROPHET

Booker didn't know what to make of it. A prophet? Obviously something religious was going on in this city. Maybe it was an important part of their culture? Like, more important than usual? Booker didn't know, that was for sure. He was completely confused as he stared through the small porthole.

Then, his eyes caught sight of a giant metal statue of a female angel with its arms spread out, as if welcoming any newcomers to the city. Booker stared at it wide eyed. Then there were the flying zeppelins that flew across the sky, most likely transporting goods and people. It was just too much. There was so much here that the world down on the surface lacked. It was so grand…so magnificent…so holy looking. Booker's train of thought was suddenly interrupted when the capsule landed on some sort of surface, and began descending into some sort of building.

He had arrived at Colombia.

**Booker's at Colombia! Think I did it all too fast? Too slow? Got any questions? Review and I will answer them!**


	3. Chapter 3: Baptism in Fire

**Chapter 3 is now up! Hooray! Now Booker is finally in Colombia! Let's see how he interacts with everyone shall we?**

**I do not own Bioshock or any of its characters except for my Original Characters, created by me.**

"One goes into an experiment knowing one could fail. But one does not undertake an experiment knowing one HAS failed." Robert and Rosalind Lutece.

~3~

Baptism in Fire

Booker felt the building collide with the capsule before he saw it. Just as he was staring at the giant metal angelic building in the distance, he felt a sudden jolt as the capsule connected with a service elevator outside on the building's roof. Booker's head rocked around when they collided, and he closed his eyes, hoping that the capsule had suddenly broken and he was falling to his doom. After a moment, Booker reopened his eyes to see lots of clockwork. Gears and levers pulled and turned together in perfect harmony, activating one another and finally all coming together to move some part of machinery.

There was a slight clinking sound, somewhat similar to the noise a rollercoaster would make as it ascended the first drop, as he descended. Ahead of the capsule, through all of the metal gears, chains, and levers, there was a giant pendulum swinging back and forth, telling Booker that he was obviously in a giant clock. Beyond that was a glass pane window, that had bright orange light shining through it and onto Booker through the capsule's porthole window.

As the capsule continued on its path down to the ground floor, Booker caught sight of a metal plate that hung on two metal beams on either side of the capsule's elevator. Written on the metal plate were the words,

WHY WOULD HE SEND

HIS SAVIOR UNTO US,

As they continued on their way down, Booker watched as several more plates followed. They all read (in order),

IF WE WILL NOT RAISE

A FINGER FOR OUR

OWN SALVATION?

AND THOUGH WE

DESERVED NOT HIS

MERCY

HE HAS LED US

TO THIS NEW EDEN.

A LAST CHANCE

FOR REDEMPTION.

Redemption? Redemption from what? What was this guy talking about? Whoever had this written down on platelets for everyone who entered the city to see, was obviously a deeply religious man. So full of religion, that it seemed like he was a religious zealot, forcing people to worship him almost. He seemed to have some sort of effect on these people, and from seeing that poster outside; Booker guessed the man he was talking about was Comstock. Whoever this guy was, he could prove to be a problem in the future. Booker decided to steer clear of him as much as he could while trying to find the girl.

Finally, Booker's descending ride seemed to end as a series of a pair of red lights passed by the porthole. Then, the area in front of the capsule opened up into a wide room, which nearly blinded Booker from its brightness.

"What the…" Booker whispered to himself as he squinted to see what was blinding him.

When Booker's eyes finally adjusted to the light, he could make out the giant stained glass window in front of the capsule. From inside the capsule, Booker could make out the picture of what appeared to be the same man on the banner, Comstock, standing in a heroic figure above a group of people. Above him it read,

AND THE PROPHET SHALL LEAD

THE PEOPLE TO THE NEW EDEN

He was right. This mural proved it. This man…Comstock…obviously had immense power over the people of Colombia, and unless he wanted to go through a vast deal of trouble, Booker was determined to steer clear of this man. But if he had to go through him to get the girl…so be it. It was the only way to clean off his debt.

Finally the capsule came to an end, and the capsule halted. With a hissing sound and a gust of wind, the capsule door opened once again, after what seemed like an eternity. The clamps on his legs and hands suddenly opened, giving him freedom to walk around freely once again. Booker rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had given him a small rash, and stood up. The stained glass window was still in front of him. Comstock's figure seemed much larger now, making Booker feel small in his presence. Turning his attention away from the mural, Booker stepped out of the capsule. When his feet landed on the floor, he found that the entire area had a small amount of water covering the floor.

"Great…now my shoes are wet…ugh…" Booker said as he lifted his leg to examine his now soaked shoes. With a heavy sigh, he lowered his leg back into the water with a splash, and began to wander around. Booker wandered towards some steps were he was welcomed by a giant statue of Comstock with his arms outstretched as if to welcome him. Booker snorted,

"Pfft. Get ahold of yourself Comstock you're not God…" he said as he looked at the statue with a raised eyebrow. Booker pressed onward past thousands of lighted candles towards a man standing near an archway, dressed in a holy looking robe. Booker approached the man and tried to get his attention,

"Excuse me! Where am I?" Male pilgrim looked at him and smiled,

"Heaven friend. Or as close as we'll see till Judgement Day." He responded. Booker nodded sheepishly before walking down the set of stairs that the man stood near. When he felt that the man was out of earshot, Booker rubbed the back of his neck,

"Better keep such questions to myself, 'less I want to get made." Sounds could be heard as Booker descended down the stairs. As he neared, he could distinguish it as singing. Booker reached the bottom of the stairs where he was met with a most spectacular sight. Ahead of him, was a large pathway (covered by water of course) with candles surrounding it at the sides. There were also other pathways on the side of the main one, where priests and other pilgrims walked, singing some sort of song that Booker didn't recognize.

"And every year on this day of days, we recommit ourselves to our city, and to our prophet, Father Comstock." Booker heard a voice preaching.

"We recommit through sacrifice, and the giving of thanks, and by submerging ourselves in the sweet waters of baptism." The voice continued. "And lo, if the prophet had struck down our enemies at Wounded Knee, and not railed against the Sodom beneath us, it would have been enough. IF the prophet had just railed against the Sodom beneath us, but not accepted the three golden gifts of the founders, it would have been enough. And I say to you again, if the prophet had just accepted the three golden gifts of the founders, and not prayed for our deliverance, it would have been enough!" The man yelled as he escalated in his sermon.

Booker had now reached a group of men in white robes surrounding the preaching man, all with their heads bowed. Booker reached for the two nearest men, and gently pushed them aside so he could speak with the preacher. Thankfully, the preacher noticed him almost immediately, and smiled as he saw him,

"Is it someone new? Someone from the Sodom below? Newly come to Colombia to be washed clean, before our prophet, our founders, and our Lord? " He asked.

"I just need passage into the city." Booker said, not exactly responding to the question that had been delivered to him. He had denied baptism before, and he wasn't too keen on doing it now.

"Passage into the city? Ha-ha! Brother, the only way to Colombia is through rebirth in the sweet waters of baptism! Will you be cleansed brother?" The preacher asked, reaching out his hand. All around him, Booker could now hear the men in white robes chanting for him to accept.

"Hey, I'm just looking to pass through…" Booker said, trying to back off. However, he could not leave the thick circle of men in white robes who had begun chanting him on,

"Go on Brother!"

"Praise the Lord!"

"Reach out Brother!"

"Take his hand!"

"Glory be!"

"Hallelujah!"

Booker sighed and walked up to the preacher and accepted his hand, "Well it's either this or turn around and get back on that rocket…"

The preacher then grabbed Booker, spun him around, and held him, ready to be baptized. He then began to speak,

"Hey!" Booker cried out in surprise.

"I baptize you in the name of our prophet, in the name of our founders, in the name of the lord!" Before Booker could react, the preacher pressed his head underwater, without giving him time to hold his breath. Booker felt the preachers hand on his forehead, pressing him down. He was losing air, and fast. Booker began to struggle a little, for fear of drowning. But, before any damage could have been done to him, the preacher pulled him back up,

"And make him born again, in the bosom of Colombia!" He continued, "I don't know brothers and sisters, but this one doesn't look clean to me!" He said towards the crowd before pushing Booker back under again.

***Booker's mind***

Fire. Fire was everywhere. On the buildings…in the sky…on the people…everywhere. From where Booker was standing, he caught a fantastic sight of the Empire State Building ablaze, its windows shattered, and the people inside crying in pain as their skin was burned off their backs. Some were even desperate enough to jump out of the building, knowing full well that they would die once they hit the ground. It was pure terror.

Booker looked around. What was happening? Just then, a loud _BANG! _went off. Booker turned towards the source of the bang and was astonished to see an entire fleet of flying warships shooting bombs off towards the city, further setting it ablaze.

Colombia.

Colombia had sent its warships to destroy everything…EVERYTHING! But why? Why would they do this to their home country! Why?! Booker suddenly felt dizzy, and fell over, allowing his face to hit the hard pavement below as he closed his eyes…

***The real world***

Booker coughed violently as he felt the last of the water escape his lungs and fly out of his mouth. After a few spurts, Booker could finally breathe again, and allowed his eyes to open. Blinding light made him close his eyes again. Slowly, he reopened them, allowing them to adjust to his new surroundings.

As he stared up at the sky, there were three male statues staring back down on him. One carried a key, one a scroll, and another a sword. Booker coughed once more, cleansing the last of the water out of his lungs before sitting himself up. His clothes were soaked, and his eyes red from not being able to breathe.

"That idiot priest needs to know the difference between baptizing a man, and drowning one." Booker said to himself, wiping off as much water from his hair and clothes as he could. He stepped out of the fountain he was currently standing on and began to explore. He moved past a series of priests that were worshipping a statue of what looked like George Washington.

"I need to find a landmark and figure out where the hell I am." Booker continued talking to himself as he walked along. He was his only company at the moment, and being lost in this new society was making him begin to speak to himself for comfort. As he walked, he could hear many of the priests murmuring ridiculous things about George Washington, and the other founding fathers. Booker sneered as he walked past them up to a giant wooden door,

"Just 'cause a city flies don't mean it ain't got its fair share of fools." He said before opening the door.

When he pushed open the doors, he was met with one of the most spectacular scenes he had ever seen in his entire life. Before his very eyes, was a picture of peace, tranquility, and order. A little ways down, was another statue of Comstock, this time holding a sword. Surrounding him was a plaza, where a few people mulled around, and conversed with each other.

Aside from the floating buildings, the most interesting thing that Booker could notice was the set of rails that connected each building. As he stared at them, he watched as several freight cars flew past, guided by the rails like a rollercoaster. Even when the buildings wandered too far, some of the tracks twisted and turned to meet the proper adjustment to allow safe passage of the cargo. It truly was a magnificent view. Further, Booker could see many other sections of the city floating around, with clouds flying past them.

Booker was snapped out of his trance when the ground shook slightly. He then noticed that the floating ground he had been on had just connected with the plaza. Booker slowly walked forward, over the teeth that connected the buildings, half expecting it to open up on him, allowing him to fall to his death. Above his head, a sign read,

NEW EDEN SQUARE

Civilians conversed and laughed all around him. Off to his right, a man in a vendor's suit was selling hot dogs, as he leisurely leaned on his hot dog stand.

"Alright Booker…still got a girl to find…" he said to himself as he walked past a group of citizens talking with one another.

Booker walked up to the statue of Comstock and stood before him, summing up the statue from where he stood. He then shook his head, and continued walking down the cobbled street. It had come to dawn on him that there were no cars of any sort. Not to mention carriages. How did they transport things? By hand? That would be quite a burden wouldn't it? Booker wondered. As he began walking down a street surrounded by tall buildings, his question was answered as he looked at a mechanical horse.

"Whoever these people are, they're pretty advanced…I never saw stuff like this in New York…unless the government has been working on some top secret machinery…" Booker exclaimed as he stared at the mechanical horse. The man that accompanied the horse began to stare suspiciously at Booker, and spoke up,

"Hey, keep it movin' pal!" He said. Booker raised his hands up in defense and walked away.

Ignoring what had just happened a few minutes prior, Booker still looked around the streets, amazed at this new city. Compared to New York, it was better in every way. It was cleaner, brighter; less crowded, had nicer people, probably had a lower crime rate, and was full of new innovations that he hadn't even seen back on the surface. The only downside, however, was falling off, but what were the chances of that. It's not like he was just going to walk over the edge.

Booker walked up to a clearing where the bridge was obviously down. A small crowd had gathered, waiting to cross. Just then, Booker saw some small blimps/balloons cross through between the buildings. They each held a dramatic picture of Comstock, and had a narrator speaking in the background,

"After the battle of Wounded Knee, the angel of Colombia did present itself to Father Comstock and show him a vision of the future. And so our prophet led the people away from the Sodom below, up, up into the city, where they created an even more perfect union. But it was the miracle child, the lamb that is the future of our city. For the prophet has said that she in the tower will lead the Sodom below into righteousness!" When the narrator finished, the police officer guarding the bridge announced,

"All clear! Good luck at the raffle folks!"

Booker was confused. Raffle? What raffle? Booker continued onward when he came across a sign.

"'Colombia raffle and fair', Huh." He read aloud. Up ahead, Booker could hear some slight singing. Intrigued, he walked up a set of stairs into a small street. Behind him, beyond the balcony on a floating barge (floating in the air mind you) were four men, singing in harmony and smiling gaily. Booker smiled weakly before remembering why he was here.

The city continued to seem like a never ending maze, leaving no distinguishable landmarks for him to recall, until he saw it.

The Statue. The giant, metal statue of an angel.

Booker held up the photo he had been given of the statue and compared them.

"Yeah. That's where they said I'd find her." He said aloud to no one in particular. Just then, he heard a light, yet slightly annoying voice call out his name. Before him, stood a young boy in a brown coat wearing a paperboy hat. He held out a golden piece of paper with a grand smile on his face.

"Telegram Mr. DeWitt!"

"Huh?"

"Telegram for you sir!"

"What? But who knew I was…hey come back!" Booker shouted as the boy gave him a salute and dashed off. Most likely to send another telegram. Booker sighed and looked at the ticket in his hand. It read,

**Colombia Telegram Co.**

**DeWitt STOP**

**Do not alert Comstock to**

**Your presence STOP**

**Whatever you do, do not **

**Pick #77 STOP**

**Lutece **

"Lutece…what the?" Booker was confused. Who was Lutece? How did they know of his presence in the city? And what was up with 77? Too many answers and too little time. Booker didn't want to spend any longer in this city than he needed to. Something about it seemed…wrong. People were too happy, and if there was one thing he knew for sure, there wasn't such thing as a Utopia. There just couldn't.

Booker stared back at the giant metal angel and saw that there were fireworks going off behind it. Grand colors of red, white, and blue exploded into the sky, giving all who watched a grand show. Booker watched the fireworks for a second before moving on. He had a girl to find.

The stairs that were before him seemed to lead to a carnival of sorts. On the outside of the entrance, a man in a suit and top hat was trying to sell some sort of potion to customers, but Booker knew better than to take drinks from people he didn't know well. He had had that experience in New York once. Needless to say, he wouldn't do that again.

As he entered the fair, he could hear numerous jovial voices calling out to any customers who were interested to come to their stall and join in the festivities. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, and was laughing as they played the games. Booker walked up to one of the stalls which were a shooting range.

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Who will take up arms against these monstrous heathen? C'mon up and defend our dear Colombia from the Vox Populi!" The stall tender announced to the crowd.

"Vox Populi? Who are they?" Booker asked, confused.

"Who are they?! Have you been livin' under a rock? My dear man, they are the people, led by Daisy Fitzroy, who want to rid of us this beautiful land that we call home! They want to tear it all down, and rebuild their 'more perfect union'. Why don't you help us out and take a few down? Just step right up, grab the rifle, and knock 'em dead!" The man said swinging his arm with enthusiasm. Booker stared at him for a moment before deciding that it wouldn't hurt to earn some cash while he was here.

"Just wait till I say go, and you can let it loose! Alright? Ready…set…GO!" The man said happily, watching as Booker quickly picked up the rifle and aimed at the newly appearing targets. One after another, he shot them apart. Some on the head, some in the chest…and some in the groin. When he was finished, he had racked up around 31 points. Just enough to earn him the top prize.

"Well I'll be damned! Nice to have you around here sharpshooter! I just know you'll defend our dear city from those heartless heathen! Say, you should join the military you know that?" The man said throwing an arm over Booker's shoulder. Booker lightly shook it off and grinned,

"Haha, no thanks pal, I'm just here to visit. But thanks for the prize." Booker said and claimed his prize. 40 silver eagles. Not bad. Not bad at all. Booker strolled through the numerous stalls, staring at each and every one of them just like the other citizens before hearing a feminine voice call him over,

"Dear friend, have you ever lost a penny to a vending machine? Has a pay telephone ever refused to connect you with your beloved spouse? Well! It's time to take back control from the men of metal! With possession, you are the master! Here sir, we have free samples!" A young girl presented to him a basked full of green bottles.

"With just a whisper, they're all ears…" She said.

"Here, give me one of those." Booker said as she neared him so he could grab one. The bottle was entirely green, and had a knob at the top with a heart on it. Booker pulled the top off, and downed the drink like he would with any alcohol.

Only, this wasn't alcohol. The drink made him feel dizzy as soon as he gulped it down, and it tasted of a thick syrup and watermelon. The girl that had presented the thing to him drew a heart in the air, and blew him a kiss, which woke him out of his daze. She giggled before walking off towards another customer.

"What the hell was that…?"

On his hand, a small green ghost with female features spun and circled around his fingers. It seemed as though it was waiting his command.

Booker wiped his eyes and found that his vision was back to normal. With a groan, he walked up to the giant metal gate that would lead to the raffle. In front of the gate, was an animatronic man from the waist up, with a straw hat atop his head. Booker approached it and noticed that it was selling tickets. On the metal dashboard below was a button, which read: BUY TICKETS. Booker pressed the button and waited to see what would happen,

"Sorry pal, the raffle's all sold out! The Entrance is reserved for dignitaries and very important personages alone. Please accept our greatest apologies! The raffle is at capacity!"

"At its capacity huh?" Booker thought for a moment. What was it that girl said? "With just a whisper…they're all ears. Hm…" Booker said aloud, while approaching the machine. With a wave of his hand, the small green ghost flew at the machine and disappeared inside it. With a metallic groan, the machine came to life,

"Well, if it isn't assemblyman Buford! Your spot at the raffle awaits!" The machine said happily, opening the gate for Booker. "Don't know why I didn't recognize you before. Odd!" The machine said happily before Booker walked past it. Almost as soon as he had walked through the gate he ran into a couple…that seemed oddly familiar…

"Heads?"

"Or Tails?"

"C'mon let me through." Booker said, annoyed that it seemed like fate did not want him to reach Monument Island.

"Heads?"

"Or Tails?" They asked again.

"Huh…heads." Booker said flipping the coin. The coin flew through the air before landing with a _CLANK _on the plate that the woman was holding. It was heads.

"Told you."

"Hmmm…"

"I never find that as satisfying as I'd imagined."

"Chin up. There's always next time."

"I suppose there is."

And with that, the pair moved off to the side, examining the coin and murmuring to themselves. Booker wasn't exactly sure what that was for, or why they were doing it, but shrugged and moved forward. When he set foot into a small courtyard, where two children were playing, he could hear them singing,

"_Warden, Warden, keep her safe,_

_Keep her from the Black Lamb's strafe,_

_When he comes to take her 'way,_

_See to it that he's away,_

_Never hurt her, never leave_

_Or the Black Lamb 'll make us greave!" _

"Huh…the Warden? Meh, probably not important. Now where's the way to Monument Island…" Booker said moving past the dancing children. Next to the small courtyard was another balcony that gave a great view of a few buildings floating in the air. One of the buildings even had parade balloons strapped to it. Nearby, two police officers were talking with each other. Booker overheard their conversation as he passed,

"Where'd you get that?" The first police officer asked, viewing a spinning metal hook that was strapped to the other police officer's hand like a gauntlet. The second officer laughed,

"What? This little beauty? The whole division got 'em. If we're gonna flush the Vox out of the sky-line system, gotta have the best. Ya know?"

"They got any openings in the group? I'd love to bust some Vox skull…" The first officer commented, admiring the spinning hook.

Booker moved past the two after taking a look at the metal hook himself. What was that for? A melee weapon? Quite peculiar, still, it looked quite lethal. Suddenly, Booker remembered what he was doing here in the first place, 'Quit sightseeing DeWitt! You've got a girl to find! You haven't got time for neat nick-nacks' Booker thought and moved on.

Booker walked forward a few steps before a sign caught his eye. It read:

**COLOMBIA**

**MONUMENT ISLAND**

**CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE**

**WE APOLOGISE FOR THE INCONVINIENCE**

Booker groaned. "Great, now I got to get in there illegally. This will prove to be interesting." He said before walking past the sign. Up ahead, he could hear singing. Maybe that was where the raffle was? Booker moved towards the sound of the singing when he came upon another sign that caught his interest. It was a picture of a hand with the letters B and D on it. It read,

**YOU SHALL KNOW**

**THE BLACK SHEEP**

**BY HIS MARK!**

"What the?" Booker wondered as he raised his right hand. It too, had the letters B and D on it. He had been given this brand as the initials of his name, Booker DeWitt, when he had joined the Pinkertons. Allan wasn't a trusting man, and he had all of his agents branded with their initials. It was a painful experience, but everyone had to go through it.

Booker continued towards the sound of the people singing. It was getting louder now, and he had a feeling he knew where they were judging by how loud they were. If he had to guess, they were just over the large set of stairs, and in what looked like a small, tree filled courtyard. Booker looked back at his hand and quickly ripped off part of his shirt. He didn't know what this had to do with him, or how these people knew him, but he didn't want them seeing his mark, so he quickly wrapped the cloth around his hand.

After admiring his handiwork, Booker walked up the set of stairs past a group of people in line, waiting to get handed a baseball with a number on it by a girl with a basket. Booker finally reached the top of the stairs, and passed a fountain, leading him into a courtyard with a stage. There was quite a large crowd of people, who were singing merrily to the man who was on stage. The man, who was wearing a top hat and a neat suit, was singing and encouraging everyone to join him.

Booker surveyed his surroundings, and decided it wouldn't hurt to join in the crowd. He walked up behind a group of people and watched as the man on stage stopped singing,

"And now, the 1912 Raffle has officially begun!" he shouted happily. The crowd cheered and whistled, obviously excited about the event. What was this raffle? Why was it so important? Were they betting money? Maybe this place wasn't that bad after all.

"Hey mister! Mister!" Booker heard another feminine voice call him over. Booker approached the girl with an eyebrow raised,

"Sorry, no sale." Booker said quickly, expecting her to be trying to coax him into buying something.

"Silly, there's never a charge for the raffle!" She said happily. "You been sleeping under a rock?" Booker shrugged and reached in to grab a baseball. 'Pfft, yeah lady I've been getting that a lot lately.' Booker thought as he picked one up. As he turned it to see his number, Booker was astonished to see the number,

"Seventy-seven." He read aloud.

"Seventy-seven? That's a lucky number. I'll be rooting for you." The girl said before walking off. Just then, the man on stage spoke up,

"Bring me, the bowl!" And so, like he had asked (more like demanded) a girl brought him a giant glass bowl, as the crowd seemed to become ecstatic. "Ah! Is that not the prettiest young white girl in all of Colombia? Haha!" The man laughed as the girl brought him the bowl. The crowd was cheering loudly now, excited to see who the winner would be.

"Alright then…the winner…of the 1912 Raffle is…number seventy-seven!" Booker was shocked when he heard his number called. Usually, he never had this kind of luck.

"Well, what do you know?" Booker said eyeing the ball. Suddenly, from behind him, the girl from before started shouting,

"Over here! Over here he's the winner!" She shouted happily to the man on stage. The man came closer to Booker and watched as Booker showed him the ball. The man smiled happily and stood back up,

"Number seventy-seven come and claim your prize! FIRST THROW!" The man said, growling his last sentence with distaste. Something was wrong, Booker could feel it. First throw? First throw at what? Just then, the curtains behind the man drew and a white man and African American woman were thrust forward, tied to a wooden pole. The crowd began shouting wedding music as the bound couple was brought forward.

"Please! Please don't do this!" the woman pleaded looking at Booker.

"It was me. It was all me! Please. Please no!" The man shouted, also looking at Booker. "Please what are you doing!?" The man pleaded, obviously scared and confused.

Just like Booker.

"Come on now, are you gonna throw it…or are you taking your coffee black these days? Hahaha!" The man on stage began to laugh at his racist joke, along with the crowd. Booker just stared as the crowd chanted for him to throw it. 'What the hell? What was wrong with these people?! This was just sick!' Booker thought as he realized what was happening.

"Let her go! Please! I'm the one you want!" The man pleaded once more. The woman just began crying, out of fear about what was going on. Booker eyed the man with the fancy suit angrily.

"Oh, looks like we got a shy one here! Haha!" The man teased. "We've gotta do something about that!" He said. Booker wasn't listening however, as the rage built up inside him.

"Please!"

"Time's a wastin' my boy! Why don't you give her a throw?" The man beckoned. Booker had had enough of this man's ignorance.

"I've got something for you, you son of a bitch!" Booker said under his breath, before chucking the baseball at the man. The man recoiled backwards from the throw, and fell on his behind as the crowd fell silent at Booker's sudden action. A few screams arose from the women. Booker knew this was bad, and he knew it was a stupid idea to draw attention to himself like that, but he couldn't help it. It was WRONG. Just as Booker was about to walk away, two police officers grabbed him by the arms.

"Where do you think you're going pal?"

"Let go of me!"

"Only one person would commit a heinous act like that. Let's just take a looksee at your hand here…"

"Hey! Stop that! Stop!" Booker pleaded as the police officer unraveled the cloth around his restrained hand. Before long, the cloth had fallen off, and he was once again sporting his B.D. initials on his hand, for the entire crowd to see.

"Look! It's him!" The police officer shouted towards the man on stage, (who had gotten back up and brushed himself off). The two officers brought him forward and showed the man his hand.

"Now, where'd you get that brand boy? Don't you know that makes you the back-stabbin', snake in the grass, Black Sheep?!" The man spat. From behind him, Booker could hear the crowd grow uneasy,

"The Black Sheep!"

"He's here!"

"Kill him!"

"Stop him!"

"Beat him!"

Booker continued to writhe in the police officer's grasp, but to no avail. He would have to wait and see what they would do with him.

"And we ain't lettin' no Black Sheep in _OUR_ flock! Haha!" The man said, standing up and addressing the crowd. "Show 'em what we got planned boys!" The man said deviously.

Just then, Booker saw the policeman to his left pull out the sky-hook that he had seen before. Right before his eyes, the blades started spinning, the light shimmering off its razor sharp blades. Booker could see that this would be his end, right here and now, if he didn't do something fast. Quickly Booker tossed the baseball that was in his hand in the air.

The throw had distracted the police officer on his right long enough for Booker to grab him by the back of his neck, and push him forward. What followed his movement was a nasty scene.

The spinning blades went tearing into the police officers, bald head, shredding any flesh that got in its path. Blood flew out of his skull everywhere as the blades continued to barrel through his skull. The police officer holding the weapon desperately tried to pull it out as his comrade's blood was squirted all over him. The crowd around them ran away frantically, afraid that Booker would kill them.

Finally, the other police officer had managed to pull himself free of the sky-hook, allowing it to cease its rotating motion. With it still stuck halfway through his half chopped up brain, the dead police officer fell to the ground, lifelessly. A small pool of blood immediately began to form on the ground.

"You bastard!" The other police officer shouted pulling out a police baton. Booker quickly pulled the sky-hook out of the dead cop just as the officer charged him.

Booker swung his arm as an attack towards the advancing police officer, catching him off guard. The blow cut right up his chest and into his throat. The metal blades had cut him open like a stuck pig, and blood squirted out of him like a damaged water pipe.

"Stop him! Stop him! The Black Sheep's come to lead our lamb astray!" the man on stage shouted before disappearing behind the curtain.

Booker kicked the second cop's carcass aside and watched as the last cop in the courtyard scrambled to climb the stairs.

"No you don't!" Booker said as he pursued the fleeing officer. Just as he had climbed to the top of the stairs, Booker was met with three other officers waiting for his arrival. Booker didn't have time to curse when the first officer approached him.

Police baton in hand, the first officer charged Booker, screaming madly. Booker quickly parried the attack and knocked him down the stairs as the second one charged. This time, Booker spun up the sky hook and rammed it into his gut. The blades cut into his flesh, ripping open his stomach and tearing into his organs. He didn't even have time to yell as he was torn apart. Blood poured onto Booker's face as he literally emptied the man's innards.

Behind him, the third and fourth cop were hesitating with shock, however the third one continued the assault and charged. Booker quickly flicked the officer's (whose body was on his sky-hook) carcass towards the third cop, which hit him straight in the neck and sent him flying into a wooden stall. Wood flew everywhere as the stall exploded.

Booker was about to advance on the last cop when he heard another angry yell from behind him. The officer whom he had knocked down the stairs had returned with a bloody and broken nose. Booker dodged his attack and jumped out of the fourth cops attack. Quickly, Booker retaliated by using his possession vigor on the other officer (which stood idly by, somewhat confused at what was happening) while he swung his sky-hook at the cop with the broken nose. The blow sent the cop flying back down the stairs, this time for good.

Meanwhile, the possessed cop stood next to Booker, wavering now and then. Booker stared at him warily, before he watched the green scent the vigor gave him wear off. Booker took a step back, expecting the man to attack, when he fell down on his knees and gripped his baton.

"What have I done…what have I done!" He shouted before beating himself in the head. Booker just watched as the man practically beat himself to death. With one final swing, he cracked his skull, leaving his face bloody and bruised. Booker stared at his body, before moving on. He didn't have the time to dwell on what had just happened. He had a girl to find.

Booker ran around the corner of the path, sky-hook in hand. Just as he rounded the corner, he ran into another pair of cops.

"There he is!"

"You're not such a tough guy! Get him!" They shouted. Booker groaned he didn't have time for this! Booker quickly smacked the first cop dead with the hook, before ramming the hook into the second one. The second cop fired a shot from the pistol he was holding as Booker flung his body away with the hook. Quickly, he searched the bodies. After finding some money, he picked up the pistol and moved on.

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire…" Booker said to himself as he walked up a wooden plank to a floating boat.

**Ok, so first things first. The fight scenes. Yeah, they're cool, and they're quite interesting to read after just reading Booker wandering about, but let's get serious here. You and I both know that this game is a first person shooter/RPG, so we both know there's gonna be tons of fighting. AND we both know that's gonna get boring. So, I've got a sort of problem that I'm trying to work out. I'm gonna try and keep you guys entertained with the fight scenes, without making it repetitive. I will try my best, and I cannot guarantee that it will not repeat itself, but I will try and make every fight scene unique or different somehow, so that we all don't get bored. **

**Oh, and just so you know, or if you were wondering, yes. I did change the song the children sing. Why? Because I've done a little tweaking that's why. **


	4. Chapter 4: Welcome to the REAL Columbia

**Chapter 4! Here's where things get interesting huh? Let's see how it comes out!**

"And the Lord saw the wickedness of man was great and he repented that he had made man on the earth. Rain, Forty-days and Forty-nights of the stuff, and he left not a thing that walked alive. You see my friends; even god is entitled to a do-over, and what is Columbia if not another ark, for another time." Zachary Hale. Comstock

~4~

Welcome to the _REAL _Colombia Pilgrim

Booker approached the floating boat ahead. Crouching, he could just make out three police officers and a turret station on the boat.

"_It's time to take back control from the men of metal!"_ Booker remembered what the girl had said. Bringing up his possession vigor, Booker aimed it at the metal turret. With a flick, he sent the green ghost after it. Before long, the machine made a whirring sound and turned on the cops.

"Hey! What's it doing?"

"Shut it down! Shut it down!"

"No! Why!"

In a matter of seconds, the machine gun turret had gunned all three of them down and had turned to some targets that booker hadn't even seen. The screams of dying men echoed in the air as Booker moved towards his now friendly turret. He was about to join in the fight when he was suddenly knocked off his feet.

Booker lay on the deck of the boat looking straight into the eyes of another cop who had popped out of nowhere.

"Die! Pig!" The cop yelled, before throwing his own Sky-hook towards Booker's face. Booker dodged the attack and kicked the man off of him. The officer rolled to the side and turned to face Booker again. This time, the two clashed with each other's hooks and a deadlock occurred. The two men struggled to get the upper hand when Booker got an idea. He let his guard down a little, letting the cop think he had won.

"Haha! Give up Black Sheep! You're done for!" The cop yelled triumphantly. Just then, Booker threw up his leg, kicking the man in the groin. He immediately lost all power in their deadlock, and Booker quickly shoved him off the boat.

"AAAAGHHHH!" He yelled as he fell into oblivion. The fight wasn't over yet, however, as Booker saw another cop arriving from the sky-line. Booker quickly fished out his pistol and fired at the man. With dead-eye precision, he shot the man in the chest, making him lose his grip on his hook, and fall to his death.

Booker looked around him, half expecting another cop to arrive and attack, but none came. When he decided it was safe, Booker stood to his full height, and hopped off the front of the boat. On the ground lay the corpses of nearly 15 officers, all chewed up by the machine gun turret. Booker walked onward up to a giant metal gate where he encountered two more police officers.

"Quick! It's the fireman!"

"The fireman's on his way!"

"He'll take care of the son of a Bitch!"

Booker didn't even need to fire at these two, for they quickly ran away. Fearing they would raise the alarm, Booker pursued them with great haste. Soon, he came along another great metal door, which he began to push open. As he placed his hands on the door, he felt a considerably increase in temperature.

"It's getting hot. What's going on?" Booker questioned as he pushed open the door. Just as he pushed open the door, he was met with an intense wave of heat. Ahead of him, half of the entire street was on fire as a lone man in what seemed like a metal suit stood atop a burning stall.

"Burn in the name of our Father!" He yelled before lighting up his hands in anger.

"Oh great!" Booker said as he took cover by a nearby stall. Booker quickly took aim with his pistol and began firing rounds into the 'fireman's' armor. Bullet after bullet the shots ricocheted off his thick armor. It was then; Booker realized the pistol was useless against him. 'How the hell am I supposed to defeat him now?!' Booker wondered. His thought process was interrupted when the man threw hot fireballs at him. Booker dove out of the way as the stall he was hiding behind exploded into flames.

The man threw another ball of flame at Booker, causing him to dive behind a nearby barrel.

"Come out, come out wherever you are! Don't hide from me!" He screamed. Booker thought quickly. The pistol was useless. He was out of salts to supply his vigor, and he had no other weapons or means of escape. The only thing to do was…alright! Let's do this!

Booker hopped out from his hiding spot and began running along the wall of the buildings, past the fireman.

"Where are you going Black Sheep? Running away? I don't think so!" He yelled after him, charging in pursuit. Just like planned.

Booker ran over to a nearby balcony and stood, facing the fireman. "Come get me you pathetic son of a bitch!" Booker taunted. "You're prophet is full of it, and you're all ignorant sheep!" The fireman nearly exploded himself when he heard this. With an angry roar, he charged Booker. Just as he was about to ram him, Booker dove out of the way, sending a third enemy off the side of the floating city. Maybe there were some perks to that after all?

Booker was about to leave when he saw another vigor bottle lying on the floor.

"Huh. Another vigor. Must've dropped it…" Booker said as he picked it up. "Devils kiss…well you only live once." Booker said before downing his second vigor.

Unlike the first one, this one had a spicy, sour taste to it that was so strong it nearly made him puke. Then, he felt the unbearable burning in his fingers. Booker stared at his fingers, wide eyed, as the flesh began to melt off, leaving only his bony fingers behind.

"AHHHH! AHHHHHHH!" Booker shouted watching his skin burn away. Suddenly, just as fast as it had happened, his hands returned to normal. Booker panted and looked his hands over. Nope, no scars or anything.

"Whew, that wasn't no sample…" Booker said before tossing the empty bottle aside. Booker ran down the now empty street, past some abandoned police barricades, towards a giant gate which read:

BLUE RIBBON

Booker sighed and walked in. Hopefully he wouldn't have to meet any more freaks or religious zealots in there.

***The Blue Ribbon***

Booker walked into the room. It appeared to be a café. He walked close to the walls, and slowly inched towards the main room (where the bar was), hoping to sneak up on any unfortunate enemies. Unfortunately, he ran into that odd couple again.

"We have company."

"So it seems."

"Stop following me." Booker said towards the pair.

"We were already here."

"Why are YOU following us?"

"I…ugh." Booker couldn't think of an excuse, and instead began gathering supplies that littered the tables as they talked.

"Aperitif?"

Booker approached the woman who was blocking his exit when he had finished gathering supplies.

"You'll find that handy in a pinch."

"The difference between life and death."

The woman held out a plate with a yellowish liquid on it. Booker wasn't sure if he should accept it, but did it anyway. Just like the Vigors, he downed the liquid in one swift gulp. This liquid was cold, like ice cold, and tasted like bananas.

"Ooh...what was that?" Booker asked the woman.

"Hm. Surprising."

"Surprising that it worked?"

"Surprising that it didn't kill him."

"But a magnetic-repulsive field around one's body can come in handy."

"If it doesn't kill you."

"A fair point."

"Can you just answer my damn question for once? Wait…oh never mind…" Booker said and walked through the door, now that the woman had moved away. To be honest, these two were beginning to get on Booker's nerves.

Booker walked through the doorway. On the other side of the doorway was a kitchen. There, he searched through some crates for supplies, but all he managed to find was a couple of old apples in the trash and three pistol bullets. After moving through the kitchen, Booker came out into a balcony on the building.

"Great! Now what?" Booker wondered. Floating in the middle of the sky, not too far from the building, was another blimp. If Booker had stopped to listen, he would've heard the angry voice of someone on the PA yelling about how he was evil and such. Booker, however, could care less, as he had a job to complete. He moved down a small set of stairs trying to see if there was some sort of door. Just then, without warning, his sky-hook began pulling on his shoulder. "What the…" Booker slowly raised his arm and was immediately thrown into the air, and eventually found himself latched onto a metal hook that was hanging on one of the Fink Industrial buildings floating around.

"Woaaahh! Heh, damn hook must be magnetized!" Booker marveled at his wonderful discovery. Up ahead, Booker could distinguish another metal hook on the far side of the building. Booker leaned forwards and latched onto a second hook. "Haha, this is great!" Booker said hanging on the second hook. Booker jumped onto a third hook and hung idly, checking his surroundings. As he looked around, he spotted a lone man wandering the roof of a nearby building. The building was close enough for Booker to land on, and seeing as there were no other choices, Booker decided this was his best choice.

Before jumping, Booker summed the man up. He was dressed in a blue jacket with a cartridge belt of ammunition around his waist. Obviously he was a soldier. There was no doubt that these guys were going to be tougher to kill than the ordinary police officers he had encountered before. Atop his head was a World War I styled helmet, with goggles over his eyes and a strap over his chin. In his hand, he loosely held a machine gun. Booker thought for a moment. Maybe if he gained enough momentum, he could launch himself at the soldier, and swing his sky-hook at him (presuming that it would kill him). This way, he would be able to kill his opponent quickly and hopefully silently.

The soldier turned around so that he was no longer facing the edge of the building. Perfect. This was Booker's chance. Swiftly, Booker swung back and forth on the metal rail like he was on a set of swings. Just as he had gained some momentum, he flung himself off of the rail towards the man. Unfortunately for Booker, the soldier turned around just as Booker charged him. He was in the middle of lighting a cigarette when Booker swung the sky-hook at him. He only managed to yell out a stifled scream before he was cleaved off the building by Booker.

Thankfully, the soldier had dropped his machine gun, and Booker gratefully picked it up, putting it back to use. Just then, a whistle sounded off and a series of voices could be heard from ahead.

"Man down! He's over there!"

"Get him! He's all alone, we outnumber him!"

"For the Prophet! For our Founders! For Columbia!"

Booker quickly stashed himself behind some empty crates and pulled out his new machine gun. Slowly, he raised his head over the pile of boxes. There they were: Two men with machine guns and a woman that seemed to be their commanding officer. She only had a pistol with her, so taking her down should seem relatively easy.

In a flash, Booker stood up from his position and fired a volley of bullets toward the three advancing soldiers. One of the men dropped instantly as Booker filled him with lead. The other two quickly hid behind some cover. The other man had hidden behind some boxes while the woman had hidden herself behind.

"Give up Black Sheep! You do not stand a chance against Father Comstock!" The woman shouted from behind the chimney before firing a few shots at Booker. The bullets slammed against the wooden boxes, sending splinters flying everywhere as the bullets made impact. Booker retaliated by firing a volley back. His shots landed on the side of the chimney, sending brick and dust everywhere around the woman as she closed her eyes and prayed to the founders to avoid getting hit.

Just then, the man from before had snuck up to Booker's side and attempted to shoot him at blank range. Booker spotted him with the corner of his eye as he approached him, and quickly used the sky-hook to pry the weapon out of his hands. The machine gun was sent flying off the building, leaving the two men to engage in hand to hand combat.

Seeing as the he would easily be sliced open by Booker's sky-hook, the soldier tackled Booker to the ground and pinned his arm down.

"Ugh! Dammit!" Booker cursed as the two wrestled with one another. Just then, the woman ran up the stairs to see the two fighting one another. She quickly aimed her pistol at Booker, but didn't fire, fearing that she would shoot her comrade.

"What are you waiting *ugh* for! Take the *ugh* shot! Kill him!" The man struggled to get out. Booker watched as the woman cocked back the trigger of the pistol and prepared to fire. With all of his strength (and the will to live) Booker managed to push the soldier atop him in front of the woman's line of fire.

_BANG!_

The bullet went straight through the back of the male soldier's head, making his head snap back with a jolt before his body collapsed to the floor.

"No!" The woman shouted before turning to Booker and throwing a swing at him. Booker dodged her attack and elbowed her in the back of the head. She instantly fell unconscious and fell next to her fallen comrade. Booker brushed himself off and inspected the bodies. He managed to gather ten more pistol bullets, and found small, unbroken glass of whiskey in the inside of the woman's uniform.

"Hey, what's this?" Booker said as he inspected the bottle. His eyes lit up as he read the inscription. He didn't know or recognize the brand, but he knew alcohol when he saw it. A couple years of drinking nothing but the stuff did that to you.

"Oooh, it's been forever…I've been dying for one of these ever since I left New York…" Booker said to himself. And he would be lying if he had said that he had left his drinking problems behind in New York. Though he had been given a chance of redemption here, he still had a thirst for the beautiful beverage.

Booker sat at the edge of the building after making sure that the female soldier was still unconscious and tying her to a pipe. Sun rained upon his face and in the distance, some fireworks could still be seen. In a city as big as this, some incidents were only known by the part of the city in which it occurred. In other words, that part of the city didn't know that Booker was running around Columbia yet. Though, he would bet that when they found out there wouldn't be any more fireworks.

Instead of dwelling on these facts, Booker took the time to catch his breath and take a break. It was almost funny, like this was just an exercise and he needed to take a water break. This made Booker laugh, as it was the funniest thing he had heard all day.

"What the hell am I doing here?" Booker questioned himself as he took a swig of the whiskey. Why indeed?

Because he had a debt to pay off.

And a girl to find.

Booker took out the photo of the girl and looked at it again. As he inspected the photo, his mind wandered to why she herself was here.

"That man on the stage said something about a lamb? They must mean her. But how did they know I was coming? And what is she to them?" Booker wondered. After realizing that he did not in fact know the answers, Booker put the photo back in his vest pocket and picked up his machine gun.

"I'm not getting any closer to that girl sitting here." He said before running across the rooftop. When he reached the edge, he spotted another hook, and grappled onto it. As he hung, he spotted another floating building. Booker hopped off the hook and landed on its balcony, where a few tables were set up, like some sort of restaurant. Cautiously, Booker opened the wooden doors and walked inside.

The air inside the building was thick and musty. Also, it was incredibly hot. As he wandered around inside, he heard two voices,

"Violence is not the answer! As much as I support her cause and her people, blood must not be shed!" A man stated.

"What do you expect these poor negroes to do? How they treat them – it was bound to happen!" A female voice countered.

"Violence is not a foregone conclusion." The man replied. Booker rounded the corner, with his pistol hanging loosely in his hands. When he came into the large room where the voices emitted, a man and a woman stared at him with wide eyes. The man was first to speak up,

"It's him! The one they're after…Go…they're looking for you." He said with a hint of sadness in his voice. Behind him, the woman looked startled and ready to run if need be. Booker smiled sadly,

"Thank you." He said quickly before rushing past them. From behind him, he heard some knocks on one of the wooden doors,

"It's the Police! Open up! We're in need of your assistance…" A cop said from the other side. Hearing this voice only made Booker rush. From behind him, he could hear the cops break down the door, and the muffled screams of the woman as they searched the area. Looking behind him from time to time, Booker crept out the back door, leading him to an open courtyard.

Booker ran across the open courtyard, past multiple stalls and even a stage, to a large black gate. Past the gate, was a large statue of Comstock fighting what looked like a serpent. Crows flocked around the statue, and a heavy fog shrouded the area, except for the path which he needed to take. The whole area had an eerie feeling to it.

"What is this place?" Booker wondered as he walked through another set of giant wooden doors. Inside, he could smell the scent of rotting fruit, and…what smelled like death. Rotting flesh maybe? Either way, it had a pungent smell that made Booker nearly hurl.

"Jesus what is that smell?" Booker coughed as he walked through a small corridor. Crows were everywhere. They littered the shelves, the tables, the chairs, the ceilings, the walls…everywhere. Booker entered a large room where a large statue of a man holding a pistol stood.

**John Wilkes Booth**

'These racist bastards had the audacity to build a statue in his name? These people may live in a floating city', Booker thought, 'but they're stupider than I thought'. Booker moved past the statue to a bar room, a room which he had gotten quite accustomed to seeing the past few years. Inside, there were only three other men besides him. Each one seemed interested in staring at the table they were sitting at, like they were in some sort of daze.

Suddenly, the bartender's head snapped up and locked onto Booker's position. Booker knew that look all too well,

"It's him!" The other two men quickly leapt out of their chairs and pulled out pistols. Quickly, Booker used his possession vigor on one of the men, making him put down the other man with a couple shots. Booker then sprayed a small hail of bullets towards the bartender.

"AAARGG!" The unfortunate man cried as Booker's shots tore into his shoulder and neck. He had tried getting into cover, but didn't make it behind the counter in time. As the bullets soaked into his body, his body flung around, facing Booker. He gripped his neck as blood started pouring out of his veins. Slowly, his body slid down the wall, leaving a large trace of blood smeared across its dark green paint.

Booker walked up to the counter and found seven silver eagles. He quickly pocketed the cash, and continued to search for supplies. Along with the money, Booker was also fortunate to find a bottle of salts, which he downed, replenishing his Vigors.

After searching the entire room, Booker walked out, back towards the main statue. There, he climbed up a small flight of steps that sat behind the statue, in its shadow. When Booker arrived at the top of the stairs, he could faintly hear voices from behind the solid door.

"And so, the Prophet led us into Peking, where we demonstrated to the Sodom below the true mission our Founders had given us." A man spoke from behind the doors. Booker slowly pushed the doors open and crept through the small corridor. The corridor opened up to a wooden balcony that surrounded what looked like a shrine. In the middle of the shrine, was a man with a pointed hat atop his blue uniform, speaking to other men in pointed blue uniforms.

"And when the Mandarins and the hypocrites of Washington betrayed him, our Prophet did not heel." The fanatic preacher continued. Booker summed up his situation and brought up his Devil's kiss vigor. Fire danced between his fingers as he held his pistol in the other hand, just in case these fanatics decided to get violent.

Booker climbed down a set of stairs that led to the bottom floor of the shrine. As he neared one of the men in the blue robes, the fanatic preacher stopped his sermon, and they all turned to him. After what had happened today, Booker didn't even need to wait for them to announce their attack. He quickly threw a fireball at the nearest group of fanatics, and fired a volley of shots at the fanatic preacher.

"AAAAH!"

"OH GOD I'M ON FIRE!"

"PUT IT OUT DAMMIT PUT IT OUT!"

The few unfortunate fanatics cried out as they were lit on fire. Their screams were just the background as Booker killed off the rest of the fanatics. Booker's shots from the pistol hit two other fanatics that had just scrambled out of their seats downwards him. One fell dead on the floor, while the other was sent flying backwards into a pew, which he knocked over upon falling down.

"Die you bastard!"

"Die Black Sheep!" Two other fanatics yelled as they charged him. Booker quickly shot the first one in the head, leaving him standing still a moment before falling over dead. The second one threw a punch at Booker, only to miss and have a sky-hook shoved in his face. The fanatic struggled to stop the blades from cutting through his skin, but his strength failed him and the blades promptly sliced his head clean off in a display of blood and gore. After finishing off the remaining fanatics, Booker looted their bodies and pressed onward. Even though he had just separated several men from their lives, he had no other choice. These men were evil, in the sense. Also, after joining the Pinkertons, this had become the norm for him.

However, Booker realized the preacher was nowhere to be seen. It was as if he had disappeared. Booker decided that he would keep his eyes open if the man decided to reappear, but for the moment, he walked past the litter of dead bodies towards the top of the shrine (stage). There, on the podium, was another bottle of the peculiar liquid that one of the twins had given him back at the Blue Ribbon. Booker grabbed the bottle of mysterious liquid and drank it down. The taste made him gag a little bit, but he did feel better after drinking it. Next to the stage, on the right was an elevator. Booker walked into the elevator and pressed the button. As he did so, a radio played from a set of speakers in the elevator,

"Shortly after 1'oclock this afternoon, the scoundrel – believed now by many to be Vox Populi – began his terrible rampage. Trouble came almost instantly. Full of wrath and bent on harm, the Anarchist wounded several Columbian peacemakers – before arming himself and firing into an assemblage of virtuous fair-goers."

Booker snorted after hearing the announcement.

"Even here, the press manages to twist and turn every story to their own benefit. This place starts to seem more like New York by the minute." Booker said as the elevator stopped. The metal doors opened to reveal yet another corridor.

"What does it take to get to this tower? Why don't they just have a ferry…?" Booker complained as he walked down the corridor. Before long, he encountered another wooden, door which he began to open when he saw a shirtless man strapped to a wooden board.

"Why do you do this? I just want to go back to my family!" He pleaded to an unseen figure from where Booker was standing.

What happened next, Booker would never be able to wipe from his memory.

With a hissing noise from beyond his sight, Booker heard a sudden outcry of crows from aside his view. Suddenly, the man who was strapped to the table was overcome by hundreds of crows, which viciously tore at his flesh.

"No! NO! WHY?! WHY?!" The man pleaded as he was ripped to shreds.

"H-Hold on! Hold on I'm coming!" Booker shouted as he pushed at the door, but to no avail. "What the?!" Booker looked at the gap between the doors and saw a weak metal chain holding them together. The man on the table continued to scream for mercy as he was being eaten alive in front of Booker. With adrenaline now coursing through his veins, Booker pushed the wooden door open, breaking the chains.

Booker's presence scared the flock of birds away back to their master. Booker's eyes followed them till he spotted the fanatic preacher from before. He was dressed entirely in black, with a coffin chained to his back and a thick black robe on his back. In an instant, he disappeared with a puff of black smoke and some feathers. Booker turned his attention back to the man who had been tortured.

Most of his skin had been ripped off his body, leaving nothing but blood practically over where his skin should've been. Booker slowly approached the man with his eyebrows lifted, unsure if the man was still alive.

"Uh…" Booker said as he approached the man. At first, he seemed dead, until he spat out a small pool of blood.

"…kill…me…" he said quietly. Booker stepped forward,

"What?" He asked quietly.

"KILL ME! KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME!" The man shouted back. Booker took a step back, shocked by his sudden outburst. But he knew why he had done it. He was going through immense pain right now, from a wound he would never recover from. It was either let him die slowly, or quickly. Somewhat like ending a horse's misery when it is about to die.

Booker slowly raised his hand holding the pistol to the man's face.

"I'm sorry." Booker said before pulling the trigger.

**Honestly, I hated the ending to this chapter, as I feel it dragged on a bit. I hope that that's not the case, but if it is, I'm sorry. It is a filler for what is to come. Man it takes Booker FOREVER to get to Monument Island doesn't it? Well, anyway, there you go! Chapter 4! **


End file.
